It's not over yet
by maggied1993
Summary: This is a continuation of both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel and takes place immediately after the series finale of Angel an one year after the Buffy series finale. A twist of events after the big showdown in LA brings the characters from Buffy and Angel back together. But their fight against evil is far from over. Rated T for now, will possibly be upgraded to M in the future.
1. Chapter 1

He thought he was dead. In fact he was sure of it. Where others upon this realization might be filled with fear and dread, he felt nothing but relief. Relief that his centuries of guilt and seeking redemption were finally over. And above all, relief that death had brought him to a world of peace. The same people who would not welcome death would probably not have considered a world of darkness and silence as an ideal afterlife. But for a man who spent his entire existence believing that no pearly gates would await a creature like him, this peaceful state was a welcome alternative to what he had imagined death would bring him. He had sought peaceful solitude while he was living. It only made sense that he would be granted that peace he had spent years searching for.

He was so busy relishing in the serenity that his newly found afterlife offered that he didn't notice the slowly growing hum of distant voices. It wasn't until he became aware of a dull, throbbing ache in his shoulder and a sharp, searing pain from his leg that he came to the disappointing realization that he was, in fact, still alive.

Angel begrudgingly sat up, opened his eyes and squinted into the dim light of early morning. Rays of the rising sun shone on his surroundings. He knew the city of Los Angeles well, but the rubble filled street he was lying in was now unrecognizable. Some of the buildings that once lined either side of the road were now mounds of broken cement, splintered wood, and bent metal beams. Down the street, some of the heaps of rubble were on fire. The sound of distant sirens was almost constant. At the end of the block, Angel could see the group of people whose voices he had heard, probably firemen and paramedics searching for survivors trapped in the debris. But aside from the rescue workers, the street was deserted. Angel hoped that the empty, silent streets meant that the people who had been here during the battle were able to evacuate, instead of succumbing to a more gruesome fate, the thought of which made him sick to his stomach.

He limped to his feet, and quickly discovered that the gash in his leg was deeper than he first thought. Turing around, Angel racked his brain and tried to remember what had happened before he fell unconscious, where his friends might be, and if they were still alive.

Wesley was gone. He knew that. Illyria was nearly indestructible, so she was most likely unharmed. Fortunately their plan had involved Lorne leaving the city, so he should be safe. That left Spike and Gunn. Both were strong and capable in a fight, but they had been up against some of the most vicious foes any of them had ever seen. Spike had the benefit of being a vampire and would be a little harder to kill than Gunn, but neither of them was invincible. All he could do was hope that luck was on their side.

Angel grimaced through his pain and started walking forward, in what direction he did not know. His heartbeat raced with the fear of losing Gunn or, he hated to admit, Spike. But he ignored it and moved forward, determined to find his friends

But that thought made Angel stop, frozen in his steps. He couldn't ignore his heartbeat. Because he hadn't had one in over 200 years.

"ANDREW!"

Buffy's eyes snapped open, her body tense, adrenaline surging, and her heart pounding in her chest.

"OH MY GOD, ANDREW! YOU ARE SO DEAD!"

Her body relaxed at the realization that the yelling downstairs was not due to some new crisis but was simply her little sister threatening Andrew, who most likely deserved it. Just not this early in the morning.

The pounding sound of two running pairs of feet made its way upstairs, indicating a chase had now commenced. Buffy groaned, rolled her eyes, and tumbled out the side of her bed before shuffling toward her bedroom door and down the stairs to the house's large kitchen.

House was not the best word for the building they now lived in. It was more like a large dormitory. What used to be a small boarding school in Cleveland, Buffy and the Scoobies were now using as a slayer headquarters and training facility. After a year of splitting up and traveling to embark on solo missions, Buffy, Giles, Willow, and Xander decided it would be best to regroup and set up a permanent base for all of the no-longer-potential slayers. And where else better than another hell mouth? The demonic activity provided the girls with slaying practice. Plus, they were there in case some hell mouth monster decided to end the world. Again.

"If you're going to make a racket this early in the morning, you better already have coffee ready," Buffy grumbled at her sister. Dawn now had Andrew's shirt clenched in her fist, and he wiggled and squirmed to get away from her wrath.

"In the pot," answered Dawn, jerking her head to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. "Now," she said in the most menacing voice she could muster, returning her attention to Andrew. "Give it back."

"I don't have it!" Andrew squealed, his shirt now scrunched around his neck from Dawn's grip, exposing his pasty white stomach. "I swear!"

"Do you want another purple nurple?" asked Dawn.

"Okay, that's enough." Buffy chided. She set down her steaming mug and pulled the two apart. "Now Andrew, I suggest you give Dawn back what she's looking for before a hoard of tired and cranky teenage slayers kick your ass for waking them up this early."

"I don't have it." Andrew repeated, taking a step back from the sisters and smoothing out his now wrinkled shirt.

"Then where is it?" demanded Dawn.

Andrew looked at the ground and scratched the back of his head nervously. "Well, it's in the… the cemetery." Andrew continued his explanation, speaking rapidly before Dawn had a chance to resume her attack. "We were patrolling, and I was out with only two slayers, and there was a group of five… no, ten vamps. The girls dusted as many as they could, but we were way outnumbered, so we got out of there. In the hurry, I dropped it. But I'll go back today to see if it's still there. Promise."

Dawn glared at the self-appointed watcher. "Yeah. You will."

Andrew scurried out of the kitchen as Dawn and Buffy both sat down on the barstools at the kitchen's island. "So what did he leave at the cemetery?" inquired Buffy.

"My video camera. The punk wore his out documenting his stupid watcher memoirs, so he decided to borrow mine without asking. Now it's sitting in a graveyard. The dew from this morning probably ruined it." Buffy picked up her coffee and cradled the warm mug between her hands before taking a sip.

A moment later, Giles and Willow filed into the kitchen, both still wearing their pajamas. "Why on earth," began Giles mid-yawn, "did I wake up to a shouting match at 6 o'clock in the morning?"

"Yeah," added Willow, pulling on a robe over her cupcake speckled PJs. "What was all the hoo-ha?"

Dawn rested her chin on her folded hands. "Sorry. Andrew."

"Ah," replied Willow and Giles in unison, requiring no further explanation.

It was not possible. How could he have a heartbeat? He was a vampire. He was dead. Angel leaned against one of the buildings that was still standing and put his hand to his chest. There it was. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Breath! He was breathing too?! He took a step away from the shadow of the building into the sunlight. The exposed skin on the back of his hand glowed beneath the rays without bursting into flame as Angel was accustomed.

Angel's mind raced, trying to understand how this could happen. The only place he had ever heard of a vampire becoming human again was in the Shanshu prophecy. He wasn't sure that he had ever truly believed in prophecy that foretold that a vampire with a soul would be rewarded with humanity after playing a role in the apocalypse, thought that didn't stop him from hoping he might be eventually be worthy enough to fulfill it. But all hopes were dashed after he signed away his rights to the prophecy in order to infiltrate the Circle of the Black Thorn, and he had resigned himself once again to a tortured existence as a monster. So how could he be alive?

It had happened once before, on the day that never was. The blood of the Mohra demon had healed him and made him human. But that day had been erased so that he could continue to protect LA and Buffy. Was there any chance that a Mohra demon had been in the battle, that their blood had once again healed him?

Angel shook himself from his thoughts. There was nothing here to help answer his questions. The only thing he could do now was try to find his friends. He was about to begin sweeping the area when he remembered his cell phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and pressed the speed dial containing Gunn's number. For once, Angel was thankful that Cordeila had forced him to get the device years ago. The thought of his friend caused a pang in his now beating heart. After a few rings, a voice answered on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" It wasn't Gunn that answered, but the London accent was familiar.

"Spike?" asked Angel. He would never admit it to him, but Angel was relieved to hear Spike's voice and to know he was alive. "Are you all right?"

"Aw, you're concern is touching," replied Spike, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Makes me feel all warm n' fuzzy."

Any of Angel's friendly feelings toward Spike quickly drained away, leaving only annoyance. "Why are you answering Gunn's phone. Where is he?"

"We're at the hospital. He got a pretty good beating. Not sure from what. He was unconscious when I found him, but I think he finished off whatever he was showing down with before he went out. Docs are doing surgery right now on his leg. It got crushed pretty bad. He's not in great shape, but he should make it."

Angel sighed, relieved that Gunn was alive but concerned about his injuries. "What about Illyria?"

"Not sure. I haven't seen her since we split up. Doubt anything could get her, though."

"Okay. I'm on my way to the hospital now."

"So you're alive, then?" asked Spike matter-of-factly, turning the question into an observation rather than an inquiry after Angel's wellbeing.

"You're concern is touching," quipped Angel before hanging up the phone. But Spike's words ringed in his ears. He had not known how true that statement was.

He turned around toward what he thought was the direction of the hospital. Had he frightened easily, he might have screamed as he found his face only inches away from Illyria's.

"You're alive," Angel remarked, with little emotion in his voice. Illyria was their ally in the fight against the Senior partners and all of the monsters that had emerged from the hell mouth. But he could not muster up any feelings of affection towards her. She was strong and useful, but the fact still remained that she was the creature that had killed Fred. And she wore her face as a constant reminder to all those who had loved her.

Illyria's face… Fred's face… remained blank as usual. "Yes," she replied. But then her brow furrowed and her head cocked to the side like a dog hearing a strange sound. "And so are you."

Angel knew that she did not mean that he was still undead. He often forgot how perceptive she could be, and her observation took him aback. "Uh… yeah." Her direct stare made him uncomfortable, and he shuffled around her to get access to the road. "Gunn and Spike are at the hospital. I'm going there now." Illyria's blank expression returned. She stood for a moment, continuing to stare at Angel's back as he made his way down the block, before following him.

"So," Buffy began, pouring her second cup of coffee. Xander had finally woken and joined the rest of them in the kitchen. Willow stood at the stove stirring a pan of scrambled eggs while everyone else sat around the large counter, Dawn flipping through the channels on the small kitchen TV. "The new girls have gotten pretty good at hand-to-hand sparring. I was thinking that they might be ready to learn how to use some of the easier weapons."

Giles swallowed the sip he had taken from his mug of steaming tea. "I agree. I do wish we had better targets they could use for practice, though."

Willow perked up at this. "You know, I have been thinking about that too. And I think I have an idea."

"Oh?" Giles replied, encouraging her to continue.

"Yeah. I was looking through some of the old spell books Buffy found while she was in Italy. One of them has a lot about sensory manipulation… kind of like hallucinations. I played around with them a little bit, and with some tinkering, I think I could make something like that for training. A sort of simulation.

Giles remained silently thoughtful for a moment. "It could work. But I'm a little concerned about unintended side effects that may result. We'd need to look into the spells further. Tampering with a person's senses can lead to a lot of confusion and disorientation."

"Right," chimed in Xander, still in a sleepy stupor. "We've all been there before. Never again will I…"

"Guys, look!" exclaimed Dawn, turning up the volume on the TV.

Xander held up his hands and looked around the room, offended. "Uh, story time here!" Willow shushed him and nudged him slightly as everyone turned their attention to the news story that had caught Dawn's attention. On the small screen, the reporter stood in front of blocks filled with fires and collapsed buildings. The scene looked familiar to Buffy, but she could not place it until she saw the headline at the bottom and gasped.

Dawn turned her head to look at her sister, her eyes wide. "It's LA."


	2. Chapter 2

"ANDREW!"

Buffy's eyes snapped open, her body tense, adrenaline surging, and her heart pounding in her chest.

"OH MY GOD, ANDREW! YOU ARE SO DEAD!"

Her body relaxed at the realization that the yelling downstairs was not due to some new crisis but was simply her little sister threatening Andrew, who most likely deserved it. Just not this early in the morning.

The pounding sound of two running pairs of feet made its way upstairs, indicating a chase had now commenced. Buffy groaned, rolled her eyes, and tumbled out the side of her bed before shuffling toward her bedroom door and down the stairs to the house's large kitchen.

House was not the best word for the building they now lived in. It was more like a large dormitory. What used to be a small boarding school in Cleveland, Buffy and the Scoobies were now using as a slayer headquarters and training facility. After a year of splitting up and traveling to embark on solo missions, Buffy, Giles, Willow, and Xander decided it would be best to regroup and set up a permanent base for all of the no-longer-potential slayers. And where else better than another hell mouth? The demonic activity provided the girls with slaying practice. Plus, they were there in case some hell mouth monster decided to end the world. Again.

"If you're going to make a racket this early in the morning, you better already have coffee ready," Buffy grumbled at her sister. Dawn now had Andrew's shirt clenched in her fist, and he wiggled and squirmed to get away from her wrath.

"In the pot," answered Dawn, jerking her head to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. "Now," she said in the most menacing voice she could muster, returning her attention to Andrew. "Give it back."

"I don't have it!" Andrew squealed, his shirt now scrunched around his neck from Dawn's grip, exposing his pasty white stomach. "I swear!"

"Do you want another purple nurple?" asked Dawn.

"Okay, that's enough." Buffy chided. She set down her steaming mug and pulled the two apart. "Now Andrew, I suggest you give Dawn back what she's looking for before a hoard of tired and cranky teenage slayers kick your ass for waking them up this early."

"I don't have it." Andrew repeated, taking a step back from the sisters and smoothing out his now wrinkled shirt.

"Then where is it?" demanded Dawn.

Andrew looked at the ground and scratched the back of his head nervously. "Well, it's in the… the cemetery." Andrew continued his explanation, speaking rapidly before Dawn had a chance to resume her attack. "We were patrolling, and I was out with only two slayers, and there was a group of five… no, ten vamps. The girls dusted as many as they could, but we were way outnumbered, so we got out of there. In the hurry, I dropped it. But I'll go back today to see if it's still there. Promise."

Dawn glared at the self-appointed watcher. "Yeah. You will."

Andrew scurried out of the kitchen as Dawn and Buffy both sat down on the barstools at the kitchen's island. "So what did he leave at the cemetery?" inquired Buffy.

"My video camera. The punk wore his out documenting his stupid watcher memoirs, so he decided to borrow mine without asking. Now it's sitting in a graveyard. The dew from this morning probably ruined it." Buffy picked up her coffee and cradled the warm mug between her hands before taking a sip.

A moment later, Giles and Willow filed into the kitchen, both still wearing their pajamas. "Why on earth," began Giles mid-yawn, "did I wake up to a shouting match at 6 o'clock in the morning?"

"Yeah," added Willow, pulling on a robe over her cupcake speckled PJs. "What was all the hoo-ha?"

Dawn rested her chin on her folded hands. "Sorry. Andrew."

"Ah," replied Willow and Giles in unison, requiring no further explanation.

It was not possible. How could he have a heartbeat? He was a vampire. He was dead. Angel leaned against one of the buildings that was still standing and put his hand to his chest. There it was. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Breath! He was breathing too?! He took a step away from the shadow of the building into the sunlight. The exposed skin on the back of his hand glowed beneath the rays without bursting into flame as Angel was accustomed.

Angel's mind raced, trying to understand how this could happen. The only place he had ever heard of a vampire becoming human again was in the Shanshu prophecy. He wasn't sure that he had ever truly believed in prophecy that foretold that a vampire with a soul would be rewarded with humanity after playing a role in the apocalypse, thought that didn't stop him from hoping he might be eventually be worthy enough to fulfill it. But all hopes were dashed after he signed away his rights to the prophecy in order to infiltrate the Circle of the Black Thorn, and he had resigned himself once again to a tortured existence as a monster. So how could he be alive?

It had happened once before, on the day that never was. The blood of the Mohra demon had healed him and made him human. But that day had been erased so that he could continue to protect LA and Buffy. Was there any chance that a Mohra demon had been in the battle, that their blood had once again healed him?

Angel shook himself from his thoughts. There was nothing here to help answer his questions. The only thing he could do now was try to find his friends. He was about to begin sweeping the area when he remembered his cell phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and pressed the speed dial containing Gunn's number. For once, Angel was thankful that Cordeila had forced him to get the device years ago. The thought of his friend caused a pang in his now beating heart. After a few rings, a voice answered on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" It wasn't Gunn that answered, but the London accent was familiar.

"Spike?" asked Angel. He would never admit it to him, but Angel was relieved to hear Spike's voice and to know he was alive. "Are you all right?"

"Aw, you're concern is touching," replied Spike, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Makes me feel all warm n' fuzzy."

Any of Angel's friendly feelings toward Spike quickly drained away, leaving only annoyance. "Why are you answering Gunn's phone. Where is he?"

"We're at the hospital. He got a pretty good beating. Not sure from what. He was unconscious when I found him, but I think he finished off whatever he was showing down with before he went out. Docs are doing surgery right now on his leg. It got crushed pretty bad. He's not in great shape, but he should make it."

Angel sighed, relieved that Gunn was alive but concerned about his injuries. "What about Illyria?"

"Not sure. I haven't seen her since we split up. Doubt anything could get her, though."

"Okay. I'm on my way to the hospital now."

"So you're alive, then?" asked Spike matter-of-factly, turning the question into an observation rather than an inquiry after Angel's wellbeing.

"You're concern is touching," quipped Angel before hanging up the phone. But Spike's words ringed in his ears. He had not known how true that statement was.

He turned around toward what he thought was the direction of the hospital. Had he frightened easily, he might have screamed as he found his face only inches away from Illyria's.

"You're alive," Angel remarked, with little emotion in his voice. Illyria was their ally in the fight against the Senior partners and all of the monsters that had emerged from the hell mouth. But he could not muster up any feelings of affection towards her. She was strong and useful, but the fact still remained that she was the creature that had killed Fred. And she wore her face as a constant reminder to all those who had loved her.

Illyria's face… Fred's face… remained blank as usual. "Yes," she replied. But then her brow furrowed and her head cocked to the side like a dog hearing a strange sound. "And so are you."

Angel knew that she did not mean that he was still undead. He often forgot how perceptive she could be, and her observation took him aback. "Uh… yeah." Her direct stare made him uncomfortable, and he shuffled around her to get access to the road. "Gunn and Spike are at the hospital. I'm going there now." Illyria's blank expression returned. She stood for a moment, continuing to stare at Angel's back as he made his way down the block, before following him.

"So," Buffy began, pouring her second cup of coffee. Xander had finally woken and joined the rest of them in the kitchen. Willow stood at the stove stirring a pan of scrambled eggs while everyone else sat around the large counter, Dawn flipping through the channels on the small kitchen TV. "The new girls have gotten pretty good at hand-to-hand sparring. I was thinking that they might be ready to learn how to use some of the easier weapons."

Giles swallowed the sip he had taken from his mug of steaming tea. "I agree. I do wish we had better targets they could use for practice, though."

Willow perked up at this. "You know, I have been thinking about that too. And I think I have an idea."

"Oh?" Giles replied, encouraging her to continue.

"Yeah. I was looking through some of the old spell books Buffy found while she was in Italy. One of them has a lot about sensory manipulation… kind of like hallucinations. I played around with them a little bit, and with some tinkering, I think I could make something like that for training. A sort of simulation.

Giles remained silently thoughtful for a moment. "It could work. But I'm a little concerned about unintended side effects that may result. We'd need to look into the spells further. Tampering with a person's senses can lead to a lot of confusion and disorientation."

"Right," chimed in Xander, still in a sleepy stupor. "We've all been there before. Never again will I…"

"Guys, look!" exclaimed Dawn, turning up the volume on the TV.

Xander held up his hands and looked around the room, offended. "Uh, story time here!" Willow shushed him and nudged him slightly as everyone turned their attention to the news story that had caught Dawn's attention. On the small screen, the reporter stood in front of blocks filled with fires and collapsed buildings. The scene looked familiar to Buffy, but she could not place it until she saw the headline at the bottom and gasped.

Dawn turned her head to look at her sister, her eyes wide. "It's LA."


End file.
